IMOGEN'S POV
Deborah's shadow fell across the exit sign before I saw her. She'd positioned herself by the hallway doors, shoulders squared, one Louboutin heel tapping against the linoleum.
"Who really is that boy's father?"
I met her gaze, then glanced at my watch. The minute hand clicked forward with a tiny metallic snap. "Four minutes to closing bell. Is this really how you want to end your day?"
"Damn right it is." Deborah's fingers curled around her leather handbag, knuckles whitening. A muscle twitched beneath her left eye.
"Did you come back because you were affiliated with Felora?" The question shot from her like a dart.
I let a smile play at the corners of my mouth. "You track all your husband's business partnerships. Trust issues, Deborah?"
"Don't be smart with me." Her perfume—something expensive and cloying—filled the narrow space between us.
I rolled my shoulders in a casual shrug. "Then don't ask questions you already know the answers to."
